


In the Heat of the Night

by WhatLocked



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Green skittles are the best, M/M, Mrs Hudson is clearly Satan's bride, Tuesday Trope, and fluff, and sweaty blankets of death, bed sharing, but just not in this story., but there is cuddling, heat - Freeform, sorry., there is bound to be sex.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: It is hot.  Sherlocks place doesn't have air-conditioning.  Johns place does.Johns place also only has one bed.





	In the Heat of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, according to Fanlore_News there is apparently something called a Trope Tuesday and this week happens to be Bed Sharing, so I thought, 'What the hell - I'll give it a go' even though, technically here it is Wednesday, but somewhere in the world it is still Tuesday, so that has to count for something, surely.
> 
> NTW

~~~~~~~~~~

I am going to die.  I am going to slowly come undone and melt into a puddle and soak right into this mattress and no one will ever realise what became of Sherlock Holmes because there will be nothing left of me except for an odd stain in the mattress and people are far too stupid to realise that it is all that remains of me.  

This isn't summer.  It is Hell.  I apologise to Satan for never believing in him but clearly he does exist because I am currently laying somewhere in his home.  Possibly the torture chamber because this is truly.  Unbearable. 

Any moment now, Mycroft will join me, equally as naked and melting from the heat because this is Hell and the only way it could get worse was to know I will be spending eternity with my brother.  My naked brother.

I shiver.  Unfortunately, cooler conditions in the atmosphere have nothing to do with it.

I slowly peel myself off of my sheets and make my way out of bed and down stairs.  I should at least put on my dressing gown but just the thought makes me sweat even more, and it's not like it is anything she hasn't seen before.

"Mms Hudson" I yell as I bang on her door.

It doesn't take long but soon there is a noise from the other side of the door and it swings open and Mrs Hudson is there looking far too perky for someone who should also be melting.  Maybe she is Satan.  It would answer a few questions.

"Sherlock" she gasps, when she no -doubt takes in my state of complete undress, but I don't care.  

"When is the saint going to arrive to fix the air-conditioning, thus dragging me back up from the depths of Hell and back into the land of Not-Hell?"

Mrs Hudson gives me a funny look and tries to cover up my more immodest parts by holding a tea-towel over them. I bat her hands away.  Material is too hot.  "Answer me woman!"

Mrs Hudson scowls and snatches her hand back.  "The air-conditioning company are quite busy and won't be able to make it until Wednesday afternoon."

"WEDNESDAY!" I yell.  I wish I hadn't.  It makes me hotter.  "Well, call another company" I demand.  

"They are all busy, Sherlock.  This heat has gotten everyone in a fluster."

Why doesn't she sound like she is dying.  She is in her seventies.  This should be effecting her far worse than it is effecting me.

She reaches out and pats my arm.  "You'll survive dear.  Why don't you have a cool shower.  That worked last time."

Normally Mrs Hudson's hand is cool to touch.  Lovely, invitingly and blessedly cool.  Not today.  Today it is warm and of no comfort.  I am not sure if this is because she is suffering more than she lets on or if she truely is Satan.  Or, maybe the bride of Satan, nagging him and bossing him around and making him hot lava cake for tea (her lava cake is simply perfection on a plate.). Yes, that is it. My landlady is the bride of an imaginary fallen angel who rules over an imaginary kingdom of fire and brimstone.  A kingdom they felt that I apparently needed to be dragged down into.

"Have you heard from John at all?  How is dear Rosie taking the heat?" she asks, dragging me from images of a kitchen made of fire and hot-rocks.

I ignore her questioning.  I am not speaking to John.  John made a joke about the fact that he had air-condition when I rang to ~~complain~~ inform him of our predicament and to ~~plead for him to stop my imminent demise~~ to ask him how to keep Mrs Hudson safe from heatstroke.  He actually sent me that laughing emoji, with tears of mirth.

I sent him one back of a hedgehog and I haven't heard from him since.

I go to open my mouth and tell Mrs Hudson that I shall not be paying rent until my apartment is of a more inhabited, humane, temperature.  I was also going to ask about recompensation as several of my experiments were ruined and had to be thrown out, but before I can say any of this a thought strikes my brain.  A beautiful, wonderful non-brain melting thought.  I can only blame the heat form making my brain sweaty and sloshy for not thinking it earlier.  

John has air-conditioning.

Without another word, I turn and leave Mrs Hudson, with her calling out something about pants and indecent and something else about her age.  I pay her no mind.  I have to psych myself up to put on clothes and then actually step outside.

I shudder at the thought.  The sun is out there.  I'm not sure if my skin will survive the scorching death-rays of that great being ball of malicious, sadistic torture, but I am willing to risk it.  If all goes to plan, it will be worth it, and I will also have a doctor who will be able to treat my third degree burns to all exposed parts of my body.  That is if my skin doesn't melt off first.

~o~

The cab ride over to Johns little suburban apartment is a brief, yet somewhat mildly blessed relief.  The cabbie has the air-conditions blowing a gale in the back of the cab. Unfortunately he also speaks.  A lot.  And what does he want to speak about?  The weather.  I tell him three times to shut up, but apparently he is either deaf, stupid or just plain rude.  When we arrive at the Watson's, I pay the driver and make sure he doesn't get a single penny more that the cab fare.  It gives me an excuse to sit in the air-conditioned car for a bit longer as I slowly count out the change.  Clearly, Satan hasn't commandeered the London taxi companies as of yet.  It won't be long.  It is a good thing I had thought of this sooner than later.

The driver is clearly not impressed with a lack of tip and makes this clear by calling out some insult, that involves me having a phallic-shaped appendage incorporated onto my head, but I don't care.  I just wish his air-conditioning to stop working and then make my way to Johns door, convinced the soles of my shoes are starting to melt the more contact they have with the pavement.

I knock on Johns door, not wanting to ring the doorbell incase Watson is asleep.  Whoever said I am an inconsiderate arse hole, clearly don't know me too well.  There is no answer, but I know John is home.  There is no reason he would take Watson out in this heat.  I am pretty sure that would be considered child abuse and John tries to avoid things such as endangering his child.  It was why he refused to come along on the case with me two weeks ago when he couldn't get a sitter.  It was only surveillance work - Watson could have napped in the back of the car - but John called me a tosser and hung-up.  It had been a long night, indeed and extremely safe, which I made sure I let John know.  But he had just ignored me, much as he is doing now.

I knock again.  And again and again and again.  Finally, there are footsteps and within a few short seconds (that extend into hours in this heat) the door swings open and a _whoosh_ of cool air accompanies it.  Brief as it is, I sigh and automatically sway forward.  Johns air-conditioning is marvellous.  

"Afternoon" John says, standing there in shorts and a t-shirt and a smile and it is then that I realise that he doesn't sound at all concerned about my well-being.  I hadn't even done my hair before I arrived.  That should be a perfect indicator that something is clearly not wrong.  He should have his concerned doctors voice on now, not his smarmy _I-know-something-you-don't-so-ha!_ voice.

"What took you so long to answer" I grouse, pushing my way into Johns flat so he can shut the door.  It wouldn't do for Satan (or his vengeful and cheerfully sadistic bride) to direct all of their hot air into Johns safe haven of euphoric temperatures. "I have been out there, on your doorstep, dying for ages."

"Yeah, I know" John says, his smile still spread over his face.  I am stating to not like that smile as much as I normally do. 

I glare at him to let him know that I am not happy.  It doesn't have the desired effect.  In fact.  It makes him smile more.

"I saw you get out the cab" He tells me and the look I throw him is of utter disbelief.  And they call me a psychopath.  I would assume he was Satan's nephew or something, but his house is too cool, so clearly he is just a mere minion.

"It was too amusing listening to you, what was it? ' _melt into a gooey puddly of sweat and desperation?_ ' on my doorstep."

I turn my nose up at him for using my words of much needed help against me.  "And you call yourself my friend.  Next time, I will go to Gavin's and you shan't know if I am alive or dead because I will tell him not to tell you."

A chuckle leaves Johns mouth and he walks past me into the living room.  I follow.  Watson is asleep in the small port-a-cot that John has set up in the corner of the room.  See - I was being considerate. I didn't wake the baby.

I stand in silence, right under the flow of the air duct and let the cool air flow over me.  Instantly my melting body starts to solidify once more.  I am interrupted in my salvation when John speaks.

"The kitchen's not as cool, but at least we can talk there" John says leading the way into the next room.  I am reluctant to leave this room.  It is Heaven, yet another imaginary place, but this is one I am happy to visit.  The thought of anywhere warmer than this room is not a pleasant thought.  

"I'll be with you in a moment" I tell John and again, I hear him chuckle as I let my head flop back and the cool air wash me clean.  After a few moments of listening to Watson breathe and John tinker around in the kitchen, I open my eyes and straighten up.  I look at the kitchen door.  Well, is it a door if there is no physical solid structure to mark it as such?  I look at the arch way, separating the rooms. 

I don't want to go in there.  Already, I feel my clothes starting to restrict me.  It is then that another idea lights up my magnificent brain.  I really do blame this insipid heat for me being so daft today.  

Without another thought, I toe off my she's and using my practically prehensile toes, take off my socks too.  While my feet are at work at the bottom of my body, my hands start to work at the top and I quickly undo the buttons on my shirt.  I drop everything where it falls and soon, I am standing in the middle of Johns living room in nothing at all and had I thought his air conditions was wonderful before, it is pure ambrosia now.  Yes, it is ambrosia because I can taste it on my tongue and smell it in my nostrils and it. Is. Marvellous.

Finally deciding that I can bare temperatures currently higher than the ones I am standing in, I follow John into the kitchen, where he is rummaging in the fridge.  I am glad I stripped down.  It is at least four degrees warmer in here than in the living room.  Clothing would have been completely intolerable.

"There is water or juice, if you are wanting a ....holy fucking hell Sherlock.  Where the fuck are your pants!?"

I don't know why John is so shocked.  It isn't like he hasn't seen any of this before.  He has patched me up on multiple occasions and on several parts of my body.  He is a doctor and was a soldier for crying out loud.  Nudity should in no way garner the reaction he is having at this very moment.  

"Water will be perfectly acceptable" I tell him, sitting down at his kitchen table and ignoring his own melt down.  That will teach him for ignoring mine.  Clearly, he doesn't think this should be ignored.

"Sherlock Holmes.  You will go and get your pants, this minute" he commands and I ignore the stirring in my lower abdomen that that tone of voice causes.  

"John" I start, making myself more comfortable in his kitchen chair.  They are actually a good seat.  I should look into replacing the ones at Baker Street with these ones.  "As usual, you are clearly over reacting..."

"Over reacting!?"

"...and should you think it through, clearly, you will see that it is better for us all if I remain, as I am, unclothed."

John glares at me, barely keeping his breathing steady.  He has the look about him.  The one he gets when he is about to explode.  I apparently need to clarify further.

"My complaining clearly drives you nutty.  That on top of a needy toddler is bound to get you into a right fuss" I ignore John clenching his fists at this moment. "Therefore, me minimising the need to complain is evidently going to reduce your stress levels and your afternoon is bound to be a more pleasant one than if I should I put clothing on."

John seems to consider my words.  Well, at least I thought he was until he opens his mouth and speaks.  "Lets break this down into small parts so you understand, shall we?"

I bristle at being treated like a child, but John is in a mood and chooses to ignore my very obvious bristling.  "First, if you drive me so nutty, then leave."

I frown.  What an awful suggestion, and not very friend like at all.  

"Second, my _needy_ toddler is currently asleep, and most likely will be for at least another hour, thirdly,when my _needy_ toddler wakes up she will be happy to see you and you should know by now, Sherlock, how much she likes to pull on things.  If you think her yanking on your hair brings tears to your eyes just think what the result will be if she yanks on something else and finally, she is not going to get a chance to yank on anything else because you, Sherlock Holmes, are going to put your bloody pants on RIGHT THIS INSTANT."

I consider Johns words, and it occurs to me that I may possibly not have thought this through properly.  I get up, go to the living room and put my pants back on.  When I return to the kitchen, there is a glass of cold water waiting for me and John seems much calmer.

~o~

The rest of the afternoon goes well.  Unfortunately, John needs to lend me one of his t-shirts as Watson does indeed like to yank on things and apparently nipples are a new novelty for her little fingers to grasp.  It is not at all a pleasant experience, despite Johns howl of laughter, which in turn cause Watson to laugh and then try again.  I will be getting him back for this at a later date.  

John makes a dinner of cold meats and salads and somehow manages to get me to eat.  

Watson is bathed and again put to bed in the living room.  It is the coolest room in the house and she sleeps through better.  

John and I sit in the kitchen, and John coerces me into a game of poker.  One game turns into five as I am determined to beat him, but the blasted man has a much better p-p-p-poker face than I gave him credit for and bugger it.  Now that damned song is stuck in my head.  Curse Lady Gaga and her catchy tunes.

Between games, I stand up and take a very quiet lap through the cooler living room, to dry off the thin sheen of sweat that has formed on my body from sitting in the not so cool kitchen.  Still, it is a far site better than Baker Street at the moment and for the first time ever, I am glad that John lives all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere, and not at 221 B Baker Street.  

I don't beat John at a single game.  Had we been playing for money, his wallet would be bulging.  As it is, we are playing for skittles and that bastard wins all the green ones.  

Before long, it gets late and John stands up and stretches.  I ignore the patch of skin that becomes visible between his t-shirt and shorts.  "I don't know about you, but I'm knackered" he announces.  "I suppose you're here for the night."

It's not a question, which makes me happy.  It proves that Johns brain hasn't completely melted in this heat, which hasn't abated, despite the sun disappearing several hours ago.

"Not unless Mrs Hudson miraculously got a repair man in three days early, then yes, I am staying the night.  I'll just set myself up in the spare room again."

John drops his arms to the side and just looks at me as if my brain had melted.  Maybe it has.  Maybe that was why I couldn't win back any of the green skittles.

"Sherlock" he says and I look up to him.  "We no longer have a spare room."

I don't understand.  There used to be one.  I stayed in it on two occasions.  It had a fold out bed and all. 

"Did you sell it?" I ask.  Can you sell just one room.  In a way, Mrs Hudson sells an entire two floors of her apartment.

"No, you Berk" John says, slightly exasperated.  It is an expression I am used to on him.  I have a niggling feeling that I am usually the cause of it, but choose not to look too closely into it. "We turned it into a nursery for our baby to sleep in."

"Oh" I say.  "I'll sleep on the couch then."

John just laughs.  I lean back and look through the archway to the living room.  John has a two seater lounge couch.  There is no way even I could sleep on that comfortably.  "I shall sleep in the nursery."  Johns laugh turns into a groan.  

"Sherlock.  The cot is smaller than the couch."

Damn.  This is a dilemma.  I look to John.  He has always managed to sort our sleeping arrangements in the past to something semi-satisfactory.

"You have two options, Sherlock" John says.  I sit and listen.  

"You can either sleep on the floor." I instantly dismiss this idea and John clearly sees the dismissal.  "Or you sleep in my bed."

I smile.  A much better alternative.  After all, John is much smaller than I.  He will fit on the couch much more comfortably than I would.

"I'll take the second option" I tell him with a smile.

John groans.  Well, it is his own fault. if he chose to forfeit the comfort of his own bed, then he has no one to blame but himself.  No take-backs.  The bed is mine.  

John leads the way out of the kitchen and through the living room.  Presumably, he needs to change and get a pillow to sleep on.

"I'll let you know now" John says as we step into the hall way.  "If you hog the bed, I will kick you onto the floor."

I stop.  What?  Kick me onto the floor?  What the hell does that mean?  John has just made it sound as if we would be sharing a bed.  Surely, I misunderstood and make my way to the bedroom.  

"There is a spare toothbrush in the second draw of the bathroom" John tells me as he rummages through his draw looking for pyjamas.  Oh, the bane of having a small child.  No more nights of sleeping in the nick.  "I'll let you use the bathroom first."

I backtrack out of the room and make my way to their little bathroom.  There I find the toothbrush and brush my teeth.  I use the toilet, but not before turning the rubber ducky around so it isn't watching me with it's pervy little grin and then wash up before heading back to the bedroom.  When I get there, John has changed into boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

"The right side is yours" he tells me as he leaves the bedroom.  It is an odd thing to say, but maybe he is just touchy about someone leaving and unfamiliar indent in his side of the mattress.  I call out a goodnight, turn off the light and make my way to the bed, thinking I should have put the lamp on first.  Oh well.  Too late for it now.  Before I slip under the sheets, I strip off, dumping my clothes on the floor.

The sheets are wonderfully cool against my skin and I let out a little sigh of satisfaction.  Another sigh leaves my mouth when I turn my head and realise the pillows smell of John.  John has such a wonderfull, homey smell.  I could get lost in that smell.  And apparently I do, because it is not until the left side of the sheet is being pulled back that I realise that John has returned.  

'What are you doing?" I demand as John also slides between the nice cool sheets.

"Going to bed.  You could have put one of the lamps on so I didn't have to stumble in the dark."  John turns on his side so his back is to me and it is quite clear that the man is preparing himself to go to sleep.  

"But, you are sleeping on the couch" I tell him, although I shouldn't have to.  It was clearly very obvious that that was the arrangement.

There is a brief second of nothing and then the bed is bumping about as John rolls to face me.  

"Why on earth would I sleep on the couch?  You have seen the size of it, yeah?"

I am confused.  John clearly offered up his bed to me, leaving him the couch.  I tell him so.  

"But, you said I could sleep in your bed."

"And here you are, although, not doing much sleeping."

In a rare moment of confusion I think back over Johns words.  "You said" I start also now turning on my side to face John "That I could sleep on the floor, which is a terrible option to offer a guest, I must say" John snorts out an aborted laughter and I ignore it.  Some times he is terribly inhospitable.  "Or that I could sleep in your bed."

"Yes" John says.  And nothing else.

"Well" I say.  There is no answer.  "Why are you here?"

I hear John inhale slowly.  It is something he does when he has had enough and can't believe something is happening.  "Sherlock" he says slowly.  I am about to learn something.  This is the moon all over again.  "When I offered you my bed, I wasn't giving up my bed.  It is my bed.  I thought it was obvious, when I offered my bed, that I would also be sleeping in my bed."

I think over Johns offer again.  No.  It definitely wasn't obvious.  I tell him.  "No.  That wasn't obvious at all."

John inhales again.  "Sherlock.  Why would I sleep on the couch.  It is smaller than me."

I can't help the hushed chuckle and despite the dark, John still manages to smack me across the back of the head.  

"I'm not sleeping on the couch Sherlock. If you don't like out arrangement then you have a perfectly good bed, at your home."

I pout.  "It's not perfectly good" I say, but definitely don't sulk.  "It's on fire."

John sighs.  "I hope you are actually just being over dramatic and you didn't actually set your bed on fire."

What an absurd idea.  Why would I set my bed on fire.  The frame doesn't creak.  It has a very good mattress on it which supports my spine, no matter where I lie or how I lie.  It has sheets, much softer than what I am currently lying on and my pillows remember the shape of my head.  Unfortunately, it doesn't come with it's own cooling system.  Maybe I could look into that, should Hell ever try and merge with Not-Hell ever again, providing one day Hell does go back to where it came from eventually.  Plus, setting my bed, or anything for that matter, on fire would only make things hotter and that is just not on.

"Right, so now that we have established that we are both occupying the bed, can we please go to sleep.  I have a small child that likes to rise with the sun, so If I could at least get a few hours sleep in, that would be great, unless you have any other problems."

It is not a problem, exactly.  I actually like the idea of sharing a bed with John.  It is an idea I have entertained many a time but it was only supposed to be an idea, because actually sharing a bed with John could end up in a tragedy that would put Shakespeare to shame.  

You see, the problem is this.  Sleeping is me at my most vulnerable.  When I am asleep I have no control over what my body does, nor what my mouth says.  And should I go to sleep in Johns bed, with Johns smell in my nostrils and Johns body within reach, I am not sure that my lustful desires, that have slowly built to rival even those in the trashy romance novels that ~~I~~ Mrs Hudson reads, will not come to the surface and scream themselves at John.  What if I fondle him whilst declaring my never-ending love at John.  It would definitely involve me breeching Johns side of the bed which will apparently conclude in being kicked out of John's bed and worse.  Out of his life.  

John Watson does not need an ex-addict, socially inept, high-maintenance arsehole in his life.

I am pulled out of my worrisome thoughts by Johns chuckle.  Oh shit.  Apparently I said that last part aloud.

"I'm not sure what that has to do with anything but I already have that in my life, you git and do you see me complaining."

"Frequently" I say miserably and my misery is not to do with the heat anymore.

John chuckles again and ruffles my hair.  How he manages to make his mark, in the dark every time is beyond me.  Maybe it is something to do with carrots and night vision because John does love carrots.

"Only with fondness, you berk, now go to sleep" and with that, John settles back and presumably closes his eyes.  It takes me a few seconds to realise that he is still facing me.  I don't know what that means.

It doesn't take long for John to fall asleep.  It never does.  John, being a doctor and a soldier, knows how to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, should he need to.  Unless something vexing is keeping him awake, unless his depression is playing up then he has always been able to just sleep.  It was one way I envy John.  I have to run my body to exhaustion to get my brain to shut up long enough to fall asleep.  And right now that isn't going to happen.  Right now it is screaming at me with all the things that could go wrong.  The Mycroft voice is telling me to get up and leave.  Lestrade is there telling me to not panic and to just lay there and appreciate the cool air and the fact that John is by my side.  Mrs Hudson is mentally patting my cheek, telling me it will all be okay.  Anderson, the idiot in my head can't see what the problem is. Mary is there giggling away, telling me to snuggle closer to John.  Irene is reprimanding me for not going to her.  She could have helped me, after all, she knows what men like John likes.  Thankfully, Moriarty hasn't joined the party. He must be avoiding the heat, like a sensible mental image.

I am not sure how long I have been laying here, on my back, staring up at the darkened ceiling whilst having a mental internal crisis, deciding on whether I should get up and try and make use of the floor or just stay and suffer my self-made misery but soon the option is taken away from me.  John snuffles in his sleep, lets out a muffled giggle and then moans my name, all before he shuffles closer and hooks a leg over my shins, pulling my lower half closer to his.

The room falls into absolute silence.  I realise I have stopped breathing.  Despite what almost everyone thinks, I am not new to sex.  What I am new to is bed sharing.  Especially with your platonic friends with which you have unrequited non-platonic feelings for because clearly, despite there being some bi-sexual activities in the past, your friend does not return said non-platonic feelings.  That leaves me completely unprepared as to what to do next.  Do I just let John sleep on?  Maybe he will role back over.  Maybe he will wake up and not be absolutely mortified.  Do I hug back?  Is it a hug if done with the legs?  Can you hug without your arms?  Surely you must be able to.  Otherwise, how would amputees manage?  If I hug back, will John wake up?  If he does, and is furious, can I use the defence that he hugged first?  Will that make things okay?

Oh, god!  This is worse than the time I had to decide whether to tell Molly her current boyfriend does in fact detest cats.  I still haven't decided if I should tell her.  I think I should, but the John in my head tells me to let her find out herself.  I mean, I could set him up so he is arrested so she will just dump him and I won't have to say or not say a word to her but Molly is already skittish about potential partners being criminal masterminds, so that probably isn't a good idea at all.  God damn Moriarty, making my life difficult, even now!

And to top it all off, as if my mental anguish wasn't enough of a struggle, Johns skin against my own, as tantilising as it is, is also making me hot.  Hotter than I thought it would despite the air-conditioning still being rather adequate in the bedroom.

Deciding that letting John continue to hug me is probably more than a bit not good I start trying to move my legs from under his.  Apparently, this is the wrong thing to do.  John growls, pulls himself closer and then proceeds to drape an arm over my waist.  Fuck. Despite this being one of my deepest fantasies, this is also a right bloody nightmare and not at all how it was supposed to happen.  Well, it wasn't supposed to happen, at least not outside of my mind palace.  And both of us are supposed to be naked.  And there should be more bodily fluids being transferred other than sweat.  And both of us are supposed to be aware of the fact that we are cuddling.  If that what this is.  Is this cuddling?  Maybe John just likes to spread himself over the bed and I just happen to be in the way.  

Yes, that must be it because there is no way that John would snuggle up to me.  

Carefully, my hand goes down to where Johns hand is clamped on my hip and I try and pry it off of my body but I am unsuccessful.  All I manage to is to get John to grip tighter and mumble ' _Stop.  Mine._ '  I'm not sure what he is dreaming about but the grip is actually a bit painful so I gently rub his hand and his grip loosens.  A content sigh leaves his mouth and his whole body relaxes against mine.  A bit too much apparently as in the silence Johns relaxed body lets go and an almighty fart rips through the silence.  

I can't help it.  It was not at all what I expected to happen and I laugh.  Loudly.  

John jolts awake, his grip once again tightening on my hip.  "Wassit" he mumbles and I suddenly stop laughing.  John is awake.  Soon he is going to realise that he is hugging me.  Soon he will pull back in abject horror.  I hold my breath and wait.  And wait.  Nothing happens, exceat John becomes less alert and more relaxed.  

Cautiously, I bite the bullet.  "John?" I ask quietly.  

"Hmm?" he answers sleepily, his forehead resting against my shoulder.

Maybe he is still asleep.  Maybe he thinks this too is some bizarre dream and is just going with it. I don't answer him.  I don't move.  I take a slow, deep breath.

"Sh'lock?" he mumbles into my shoulder.  Here it is. Here is John realising the situation we are in.

"Yes, John?" I answer waiting for him to tell me to leave.

"You naked?" he asks sleepily.  I feel the mortification light my face on fire.  I have never felt ashamed of my nudity before.  Now I wish for layers of clothing; my suits and scarf and coat, despite the heat which is slowly increasing on my body as shame spreads through every pore.

"Yes, John" I answer quietly, trying my hardest not to move, waiting for the inevitable.  

The inevitable doesn't come, which is sort of an extreme contradiction if you think about it, seeming as the very word  _inevitable_ means ' _Certain to happen; Unavoidable_.' Again, I hold my breath.

"Mmmkay" John mumbles again and again, the room falls into silence.

I let out the breath I was holding, the relief washing through my body making me far dizzier than the lack of oxygen was doing. I lay in the dark trying to parse what the hell is going on.  John doesn't do this.  Ever.  Well, he does do cuddling.  I had witnessed it multiple times.  It was stomach turning, at first because I thought all forms of sentiment were a waste of time and brain cells and then later because I realised that I wanted to cuddle.  Not just with anyone.  That would be deplorable. It had to be with John.  Although, I don't mind getting the occasional cuddle from Watson, but that is something completely different and not worth mentioning.  She is adorable.  Even Mycroft has offered her the odd genuine smile.  You would have to be made of stone not to show her affection, but I am really getting off topic now and not really addressing the elephant in the room, which is, John Watson is cuddling me, in bed, at night time and I am not wearing pants and he seems to be perfectly okay with it all.  So okay that he has apparently gone back to sleep.  

"Sh'lock" he mumbles again.

Apparently not as asleep as I thought.

"Yes, John?" I ask again.

"'s this okay?" he asks.

Is what okay?  The fact that I am in his bed?  The fact that he is fine with the fact that I have no pants on?  The fact that we are cuddling (well, he is cuddling me.  I am laying here like a stiff plank of wood, but shock will do that to a man) ?  The fact that he hasn't kicked me out of his bed yet?  Well, yes.  It is all fine.  It is all perfectly fine.  Therefore, there is only one thing to say.

"Yes, John."

"Good" he snuffles and then he does go back to sleep.  I can hear it in the way his breathing deepens and evens out.  

Good.  Yes, I suppose that is one way to sum it up.  Bloody fucking fantastic is another way, but there is still a chance that John will wake up properly in the morning and still kick me out of his bed and also out of his life.

This may be the only time I get to cuddle John Watson, so I force myself to relax and bring my hand up to rest on the arm that is across my waist.  I close my eyes and let the darkness envelope me.  I let the smell and sound of John relax me.  I forget that Hell was trying to take over Not-Hell and ignore that my body is hot wherever John is pressed against it.  It is a welcome heat, a comforting warmth and surprisingly, My brain shuts up and I fall asleep.

~o~

Oh, God, I am dying.  I am being smothered as I sleep.  Satan has finally decided to grace me with his presence and smother me with a blanket.  A heavy, sweaty blanket.  But I refuse to go down without a fight. I reach out, in the dark and push against the blanket, I push it away from my body.  Push on it's smooshy face and free myself.  

A cry emits from the smothering blanket of sweaty death and I grin.  I am besting it.  I push again.

"Fuck...Sherlock.  What the fuck...Stop."

I stop.  The blanket of death sounds a lot like John.  I blink open my eyes and realise that there is no Satan.  Just a John.  There is also no sweaty blanket of death.  Just a sweaty John, still sort of draped over my body.

"John" I say. What else can I say?  What does one say in these situations.  Situations where one is naked and pushing their platonic (or maybe not) ex-flat mate in the face while they were sleeping.  Sorry seems a bit extreme.  It's not like I was conscious of what I was doing.  Also, John is awake now.  Proper awake, not snuffly awake and he may now realise that he is in fact cuddled up to his naked male friend, in bed, at night.  Although, I am sure it would be just as bad if it were during the day, but as I have expressed, this is not really my area, so I could be mistaken.

"If you didn't want to cuddle, you only had to say" John grumbles and then makes to pull away and that is just not right.  In fact that is very wrong and would be going against everything I had hoped would one day happen but never actually really expected so, before he can pull his sweaty arm away from my sweaty stomach I clamp a damp hand over his arm and cling tight.

"No" I say and he relaxes and lays back down.  I breath a sigh of relief.  He is not going anywhere.  I am not getting kicked out of bed.  He is still my best friend. The only down to all of this is that I am still hot, but that is no longer a concern.  In fact, Hell could rage around me for the rest of days, only if John would keep cuddling me.  Or at least come back to do it over and over again, because constant cuddling would be extremely impractical.  How would we go to the toilet?  How would he look after Watson?  How would we accomplish The Work?  It is just not viable to a conducive life.  But I would be more than mildly happy with cuddles at regular intervals.  As it turns out, I actually quite like cuddles.  Who knew?

"So this is still okay then?" John asks in the semi-dark of the room.  The sun will be coming up soon, which means Watson will be awake soon.  These cuddles are not going to last forever.  If I don't respond to his question, John may possibly think I am having doubts.  That is a notion that must not cross his mind.  If it even creeps to the edge of his mind, he will stop because John is like that.  John doesn't like to make people uncomfortable.  That is my job and I am quite good at it.  But I don't want to make John uncomfortable, so I should probably answer his question.

"Yes" I reply. 

John settles back down and continues to cuddle.  If I could purr, I would but it is actually impossible for a human to purr so I settle for humming instead as I let my fingers brush over Johns arm.  

We lie like that for a while, watching the room light up as the sun rises outside.  Clearly John is not asleep.  I can tell by his breathing and by the fact that his index finger is moving back and forth over my hip.  It tickles a bit but I don't want him to stop so I don't tell him.  I also don't want him to know that I am ticklish, because then he will feel the need to tickle me and I know John.  He will use it as an unfair advantage over me to get what he wants.  Sometimes he is an evil little shit like that.  But only sometimes.  Most of the time he is just a little bit marvellous. 

"John?" I ask, because now seems like a good time to see if I can get more from our situation.  John seems very soft and squashy and pliable at the moment.  

"Hmmm?" he replies.  That seems to be one of his favourite replies.  I like it.  Sometimes it means he is listening to me and is at least vaguely interested in whatever it is I want to say. Other times it is an acknowledgement that I have spoken to him, even if he hasn't actually taken in what it is I am saying.  It is an indication that he is still in my life, when other people would rather not be.  I like his little  _Hmmm_ 's.

"Can we do this again sometime?" I ask.  I bite my lip, waiting for his answer.  Am I asking to much?  Was this a one time thing?  Is this actually him just apologising for eating all the green skittles?

"If you want to" he replies.  I stop biting my lip and smile.  

"Later today?" I ask.  Since he is being generous I will take as much as I can.

"Whenever you want" John replies.  He sounds relaxed and not at all surprised that I want to cuddle. I like that about John.  He just accepts me.  It's a nice feeling.  I couldn't have found a better person to want to cuddle had I set out to do it myself.  I must remember to thank Mike for bringing me John.  It was a fine move on his behalf.  I might even stop stealing his passes to the labs.  

Maybe.  

I'll give at a go for a week and see how it goes.

"John?" I ask and he _Hmmm's_ again.  "Can we do this at Baker Street.  When the air-conditioning is fixed, of course."

A small chuckle leaves Johns mouth and I can feel it travel over my chest.  It is a wonderful feeling that leaves goosebumps in its wake. 

"Yes, Sherlock.  We can do this at Baker Street" he tells me.  "We can do this wherever you want to do this."

I like the sound of that.  I can have John, wrapping me up whenever I want and wherever I want.

Since I have been extremely lucky so far I decide to try and push Johns goodwill just a bit further.  "John?" I ask.

John laughs and it is more than a breathy chuckle.  "Yes, Sherlock?"

I am glad he is in a good mood. It will hopefully make him more likely to agree to my next request.

"Sometimes when we cuddle" I ask and he lets out an amused sounding  _hmmm_ to prove he is still listening.  "Sometimes when we cuddle" I start again, because this one may be pushing it a bit too far "Can you also not be wearing your pants?"

"Sherlock Holmes?" John says and it is with a smile in his voice.  "I would be happy to cuddle with you, without my pants, any time you wanted."

Well, that was a blatant lie.  If he was feeding Watson, or if we were in the middle of a crime scene and I asked him to cuddle pantless, I can guarantee he would say no.  Or chuck something at my head.  Or both.  Sometimes he is like that. But I also know how John likes hyperbole so when he says that he would be happy to cuddle me with no pants, any time I liked, what he is actually saying is that any time it is convenient and I wanted to cuddle with no pants, then he would be amiable and that is perfectly okay with me.  

"Thank you, John" I say.

"You are welcome, Sherlock" he says and he sounds happy, which is good because I am happy and when we are both happy it is usually a good day. 

Quietly we both lay on the bed and wait for the day to start and I decide I have one more question.

"John?" I ask and John chuckles, trying to smother his sounds of mirth into my shoulder.  

"Yes, Sherlock" he says when he finally stops laughing but it is okay, because he is not laughing at me.  It think.  Sometimes it is hard to tell with John.

"I think you should come back to Baker Street with me" I tell him.  Because it would be silly if in the middle of the night I wanted a cuddle and I was there and he was here.  

"Okay Sherlock" he says.  Well, that was less of an argument then I thought it would be.  Maybe he didn't understand that I meant permanently.  So, I tell him.

"As in, I think you should move back.  With Watson.  And all of your things.  In Baker Street.  With me."

"Yes, Sherlock" John replies.  Still, I am not sure he understands.  

"I am talking about forever, John" I explain.

"Good" he says.  "It would be a pain in the arse to haul all of our stuff over there, just for a weekend."

Now I know he is mocking me. 

Before I get a chance to become indignant, John speaks. 

"Maybe we should wait until the air-conditioning has been repaired though.  I don't think we should expose Rosie to the fiery pits of hell just yet."

"Good thinking, John."

"I thought so" is his self satisfied response and then we go back to cuddling in silence.  

It is nice laying like this.  With each other.  Him holding me and me holding him.  It is just lovely and I can't possibly think of a better way to start the day. In fact, from now on, I think I will start every day like this.  I tell this to John and he agrees and that is how we start our new life.  

Together.  


End file.
